Dirty Dishes
by sirensbane
Summary: Sentenced to the kitchens by his father, Atem learns compassion and gets to practice his Shadow Magic. What more could a prince ask for?


Six hours is an unnecessarily long time to learn compassion. Prince Atem had it down in ten minutes.

_When I am Pharaoh, _he thought, _the kitchen slaves will have as many holidays as they can stomach._

The young prince stood at a wooden basin, piles of golden dishes crusted with the remains of the Pharaoh's meal stacked around him. Knee deep in sudsy water- don't ask how it happened; he didn't know- Atem scrubbed at one of the plates furiously. He glanced longingly at the door of the kitchen, left ajar to help cool the room, and then at Paki, the guard who was responsible for keeping the prince at his duties.

Atem rubbed two fingers together speculatively. It would be easy to use Shadow Magic to distract the guard while he made his escape. But the Pharaoh would hear of it, and then… Atem shuddered. His father would be furious. With a sigh, Atem returned to the dishes.

The kitchen slaves eyed him warily. Despite Pharaoh's orders to the contrary, it was impossible for them to forget that the slight young man dressed in a simple tunic was royalty, and it was unwise to anger him. As the prince straightened, rubbing a kink out of his back, his crimson eyes were momentarily visible. Demonic eyes.

One of the servants hastily made a sign against evil. Mutters broke out all around. The prince resumed scrubbing, head bowed. He was not blind; he knew what the servants thought of him.

_Why do they fear me so? _he thought. _I have not given them reason to shun me! _

"My prince?" The familiar voice broke Atem out of his dark thoughts and caused him to slop water all over himself as he nearly dropped the plate he was currently scrubbing.

"My prince, what are you doing here?" Mahaad was fourteen, two years older than Atem. He wore the simple robes of a priest-in-training, immaculately clean. His dark brown hair was combed neatly as well, and his kind, open face was marked by a puzzled frown.

Atem looked at him ruefully, pushing his sodden bangs out of his face. "I am learning a lesson from my father."

"What lesson?" Mahaad asked, bewildered, looking around the kitchen. "You should not be forced to work as a slave."

"He says I must learn compassion for my servants," Atem answered, picking up another dish and scrubbing it absentmindedly. "He says it is impossible for a king to rule over people he does not understand." He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "But nobody will talk to me anyway."

Paki pushed himself from the wall. "The prince is not to be disturbed, Mahaad. Return to your duties."

Mahaad looked at him levelly. "I will depart in a moment." He turned back to Atem. "Do you feel you have learned compassion?"

"Oh yes," Atem whispered back. "But I cannot depart until the kitchen is completely clean." He gestured around at the stacks of dishes. "It will take hours."

"Excuse me, my prince," Mahaad said. Leaving Atem staring at him, he turned on his heel and departed.

With a sigh, Atem returned to the dishes. His fingers were aching from the work. _I wish Mahaad could have stayed_, he thought bitterly. _At least I'd have someone to talk to._

The door of the kitchen swung open. Mahaad entered, followed by four other priests-in-training. Atem looked on in shock. He knew them, of course. Karim and Shaada grinned at him before scooping up several of the dishes and plunging their hands into the soapy water. Isis, small and delicate, but with enough fire in her eyes to warm the palace for a month, carefully rolled up her sleeves before also picking up a dish and beginning to clean.

The fourth boy was the most familiar of all. He was tall and dressed in the same robes of the other four, but his aristocratic bearing set him apart from the rest. His strange, unearthly blue eyes gazed at Atem from under the mop of brown hair, several shades lighter than was normal for an Egyptian.

"Seth?" Atem asked, stunned. The kitchens were the last place he expected to see his friend. Seth bowed formally from the waist, before grabbing some dishes for himself.

"What are you all doing here?" Atem whispered. "Pharaoh will be furious."

"Does he think we don't need to learn compassion?" Mahaad asked with a grin. "We're here to help, whether you like it or not." The others nodded.

* * *

_Ten minutes later…_

"Okay, lesson learned," Seth hissed to the others. "What do you say we speed things up a bit?"

All eyes turned to Atem. The prince looked undecided. "Father will be furious."

"He doesn't have to know," Seth whispered. "Paki and the others won't remember a thing."

Mahaad glared at Seth. "True power is not constantly twisting the world to your liking!"

"Really?" Seth asked, unperturbed. "Then what is power?"

"Stop it," Atem snapped, cutting off what threatened to be an unpleasant confrontation. He eyed the pair speculatively. Then he made up his mind.

"Isis, Karim, Shaada, Mahaad," he said, looking at each one in turn. "Start a spell of cleansing. Seth and I will deal with Paki."

Mahaad frowned. "As you wish, my prince," he said reluctantly.

"Mahaad, don't be so formal," Atem pleaded. "It's an adventure! A chance to practice magic! I need you with me on this."

Mahaad finally smiled. "I am with you, always."

Atem beamed. "Okay everyone," he said mischievously. "To your places."

Paki never had a chance.

When the Pharaoh finally came in to inspect the kitchens, half-an-hour later, he found his son waiting for him, sopping wet and grinning. Paki stood impassively in his accustomed corner. Behind the prince stood a pile of gleaming golden dishes.


End file.
